Tales of the Two
by Kilonji
Summary: They certainly had to be doing something while they were gone. Rated for future hooliganism. Chapter 4: Kisuke finally gets it. 4. Kisuke has a lot in common with a dead man. Chapter 5: After many years later, Tessai begins his mission.
1. Eyes of the Beast

Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Bleach.

Spoilers: If you are not up-to-date on your Bleach and read this, **you will be spoiled**. This is your only warning. _Whew. _With that out of the way, let's get started.

* * *

The first thing I did when Yoruichi brought me here was sit down with my back to her. It wasn't that I couldn't stand the sight of her. Far from it. I'm no eunuch. She's mindbashingly beautiful and has been from the day she was born. And not so long after her birth, her soul called to me. I suppose I was calling to her, too. I wandered Rukongai for years before stumbling into the thing I yearned for in the shape of a wiry girl my own age, dressed like a princess, but dirty as an urchin. We looked at each other and pretty much exploded into laughter. 

We have not been apart since. She knows me better than anyone else ever could. Which is what brought us here. I am her prisoner, for the moment. She became my warden because she didn't want anyone else to be. She's never trusted anyone else with my life. Not even me. "Stay here," she commanded before she disappeared. Seeing as I fear her more then Central 46, I've settled in to meditate on my predicament.

It's a tangled thing, when you look at it from a distance. I realized the curiosity in my nature long before I discovered science. The problem with curiosity is that discovery, much like creation, leads to the pain of re-entering the mental plane everyone else lives on. Sooner or later you have to surface for air, and it hurts like hell, shifting your mind back to the mundane. Paperwork. Underlings.

That needling suspicion I had that Yoruichi's eye had fallen on someone. She is a woman, after all, and women are romantic beings at the core. But there has always been a balance with us. We've lived our lives almost parallel. She took over Keigun only when I became Captain of the twelfth squad because she never wanted to be in a superior position to me. Had the situation been reversed, I would have waited for her, too. But infatuation blooming into love—her timing was way off. I had flings here and there, but I was nowhere near where she was in terms of being willing to commit.

I felt suddenly alone again.

But I'm not one to wallow in despair. I found something equally satisfying. First it was little things, like creating the memory modifier and improving the mod souls. But then came the Hou Gyoku.

While Yoruichi was gravitating toward that white haired man we loved so dearly, I was moving toward the sublime. And we hid from each other.

I completed Hou Gyoku much faster than I had anticipated. When it was done, that shining, living marble in my hand, I knew I had succeeded. And failed. I didn't have the nerve to use it on myself, didn't know if I ever would. And if I would not, who would? I encased it and put it away. Time passed, and my mind settled into the concept that I was the creator of a powerful object. The longer I held it, the more it seemed to beg me to expose it. _What is the point in creating and never sharing your creation? _ I caught myself thinking. _Even if it is possibly illegal._

So I took it to the white haired man. He looked at it, looked at me, and his face was a mix of admiration and horror. I'd seen it before in others. But in him it seared me, and the gravity of my situation was suddenly clear. Ukitake Juushirou is a wise, kind man, loving to his friends. And he clearly sensed I was dancing on a razor. But he knew better than to chastise me. He let me go and take my treasure with me. But since then, there has been a shadow over us. And it has spread to Yoruichi.

Juushirou-san would never betray a confidence. This is how I know Yoruichi found out on her own. Looking back, I know it was absurd to think I could keep such a thing from her. Perhaps that is why she is so angry at me now.

I was certain of that, and I sat with my back to her because I couldn't stand to see her angry. I don't feel guilty. I am pleased with myself. But the part of her that rests in my heart tells me I've done something wrong, bad enough to cost me my life. And she doesn't want to continue her life without me. She can, undoubtedly. But she will not. One way or another, she will keep me alive whether I will it or not. It's a terrible thing sometimes, no matter how comforting, to know you are so loved. For the first time, I wished she could give her love to someone else and let me go.

I told Juushirou that when he came here. And he looked at me, hard, with his brown eyes dark and terrible. Of course he's wanted her forever, and she's wanted him. But to her, loving him means giving me up. And he seems incapable of crossing the bridge that would let him simply ask for what he most desires. They're both terrible fools when it comes down to it. And so am I, to be such a wrecker of dreams that are not my own. I can tell you this because I think you understand. You've always been so calm, as if nothing could touch you this way, and yet you are so free with your kindness and empathy. "Thank you for coming, Aizen-taichou. You are the one visitor I have had who eases my mind a bit," I say.

"You're very kind," you say, settling on the futon. "I have always felt a kinship with you, Kisuke-kun. But I feel as though you are not telling me the whole story. What is it you fear? The power you'll gain or the process of getting it?"

"I see you've put some thought into it as well," I say. You are a thinker, much like myself. This does not surprise me. What does surprise me is gleam n your eyes. I know it well. It's the same one I see when I look in a mirror. I would never have pegged you as an adventurer. "Both," I say. "I'm not sure I can possess the power without being corrupted, but I'm also not sure the process is that simple mentally."

"it is the nature of power to corrupt. You knew that when you were creating it, did you not?" you ask.

"I don't believe that. Only the weak can be transformed with the gaining of strength. In any case, the desire to create often makes a person disregard the consequences of the final product." When I look you in the eyes, I can see the wheels turning in you mind. There's something else you want to ask. Why don't you?

But you change the subject, shifting a little in your seat. In the split second between the movement of your legs—barely a twitch—and the opening if your mouth for your next statement, I see it. Hunger. Spiced with malice. You want to know, you want to use the knowledge. And your purpose is not benevolent. I blink. Surely I didn't see that. Did I?

"When I create, nothing so grand as what you have concocted, I begin and end with the final result in mind," you say, and your tone is that of an impatient teacher. I have disappointed you in some way. No, not you. The beast inside you. So I did see it.

I barely hear myself sigh. "So then, we are not so much alike, are we Aizen Sousuke," I murmur just loud enough for you to hear.

You stare at me and there is that beast again. It is eying Benihime, who is still at my side. _If you wish to fight here, _I think to myself, _so be it._

I should have given you more credit. Logic tells us both that I, a lone criminal, am not worth your exposing yourself. We'll leave it at that, then.

When you leave, I am not sorry to see you go. I settle back into my chair. Yoruichi will be back soon. I can still count on her help, and for that I am grateful. I'll go as soon as I can. My absence will at least stall you a bit.

Again, you and I have something in common. We have only to wait.


	2. Honk Shu

They put in a very long night. First, the removal of the gigai from Kisuke's lab and the subsequent destruction of his office. She left the rest to him, explaining she had something to take care of. She was gone barely a few minutes. He did not question her. Then the opening of the door to the living world. Kisuke had never been thankful for hell butterflies until now. He did not stop to be amazed he still had any access, just walked forward as if he were merely on a mission with Yoruichi at his side.

It was almost nostalgic. He felt no urge to look back.

The doors opened to a vast field that seemed to reflect the moonlight. It was enough for him and without hesitation he collapsed. "How long," he breathed, "has it been since we slept together under the stars?"

"With or without trying to kill each other?" Yoruichi sat close to him and laid her hand absently on his stomach. "I recall hovering over you with a rock."

Kisuke rolled over, yawning. "Yeah but you didn't use it. Just whack me if I start grinding my teeth."

The sound of her chuckle was the last thing he heard before sleep claimed him.

When he woke the next morning the sun hung low in the rosy pink sky that darkened to that just-before-dawn-blue that he loved to see. Stretching, he rolled over. "That felt good. Are you awake, Shihouin--"

She must have been. Where she had been just four hours ago lay her clothes. Empty. His eyes narrowed as he sat up. "Hey," he called, "Yoruichi-cha—" Then he jumped.

There was something squirming in there. No, not squirming. _Breathing._ Something had crawled into her clothes while she went to take a bath. But what was she wearing when she went, and by that route, _where the hell did she go_?

The thing in her clothes was still squirming. He'd deal with the whole naked Yoruichi thing later. For now, he decided to deal with the critter. Carefully, slowly, deliberately, he lifted the shirt.

And stopped dead.

On its back, front paws curled and crossed on its chest, lay a jet black cat. Not just any black cat, either. Ukitake's familiar.

Traveler? Here? In Yoruichi's clothes. Sleeping. Like he—she—belonged in them.

So Yoruichi hadn't gone for a bath. When he rubbed her tummy she started to purr. He scratched under her chin and her head tilted as his fingers moved. "You like that, kitty?"

Yoruichi opened one eye. "Stop now and I'll scratch the shit out of you."

"Always with the threats," he laughed. "What did you do to your voice?"

"It's the cat's voice, dummy. Oh yeah, between the ears."

"Interesting. And you've been sitting on this all this time?" His hands moved obediently.

"I was going to tell you sooner or later." She stretched languidly. "Now go get us some breakfast so we can get started."

"Started doing what?"

She winked at him and he shuddered. Cats winking at him totally creeped him out. "Living the rest of our lives, idiot," she said.

He could only smile at her.

* * *

**Honk-shu:** Kitty snores, per the official Cute Overload Glossary at 


	3. Comfort

In the days after their exodus from Soul Society, they migrated toward the sea. They had not discussed where they were going or what they were going to do when they got there, but the closer they came to the coast, the more often their shared dreams smelled of brine and felt like wet sand. The towns they passed through saw nothing extraordinary about them, just a slender, unkempt man with shaggy blonde hair followed or preceded by a black cat with its tail in the air, walking as if on a stroll.

They only spoke at night. In the twilight Yoruichi cat would disappear and the Shihouin princess would come several moments later—in stolen clothing, usually—and replace her. She would tell him she liked walking with him in the twilight like they did as children, but he knew this was half a lie. Something about the violet sky reminded her of soft eyes and ivory hair. He could almost taste the wistfulness in her voice if he concentrated, and then the ache would come. He didn't know how to comfort her at that point.

Her heart was not broken, he told himself.

It was just severely fractured. Out of the fissures would seep the longing for the white haired man. And sadness for the green-eyed girl. As much as she spoke of facing forward, she would cringe at the lash of the past at her back.

They both understood there would need to be an adjustment. They both had habits and routines they missed. But Kisuke never loved anyone as much as he loved his companion. This put him at an advantage that made him sick when he thought about it. He could not share her grief with her, and she would not have allowed it if he could. So he had to suffer through watching _her_ suffer. Which, in his mind, was a thousand times worse.

Two days to the sea. One day sleeping in the sun. Another walking along the shore, the cat skittering out of the way of the tide as her bemused companion laughed at her. Then his limping up to the cave they shared, leaving a trail of blood from the attack on his shins behind him. And then came the twilight again, where in the cave they shared they pried mussels from their shells and ate without speaking. Then the woman Yoruichi wandered outside to hide her tears.

But he would not let her.

Holding her was like breathing to him, as always. She was not a weeper. She was a mixture of slight humiliation and soul-crushing mourning. He did what he knew how to do. Stroking her hair and letting her lean into him, her scent and the scent of the sea around her mixing to form a memory he would still smile at a century later. The touching and the kissing that came later would be a pleasant blur. Nowhere in him, ever, would the thought that he took advantage of her be entertained.

He knew as well as she did that they were strong alone, but stronger still united. This was necessary, he thought as she murmured apologies to someone else into his shoulder.

Later, as he stared at the small of her back while she sat facing away from him, he asked her if she would be alright. The timbre of her voice told him he had succeeded. "I will be."

It was the first and the last time they made love.


	4. Dealing With Females For Dummies

Green eyes that were soft, when last he saw them, glistening with worship for an item he knew too well to idolize. Black fringe of lashes matching the jet black hair which made the ivory skin glow all the more in contrast.

Soi Fon was. . . a whole package. He knew this because on one hand, she was a constant object of Yoruichi praise. On the other, he had observed her with interest that even surprised him, and if Yoruichi has been aware of his surveillance she would have surely have hurt him. And she knew better than anyone how to best make him bleed.

So when he slyly mentioned the lust he carried for Soi Fon in passing conversation with her sempai, he immediately wished he had ripped his tongue out years ago.

Yoruichi was not amused.

Forget that his desire was a moot point. Forget that even if he could return to Soul Society, he had about as much of a chance with her as a butterfly becoming a vice-captain. Forget that the last piece of tail he'd gotten was a sympathy fuck, and even then it wasn't sympathy for _him_. He'd made a critical error in the level of tolerance Shihouin had for his apparent deviance.

"She's a _child_," Yoruichi spat at him. And hissed and bared real honest-to-god cat claws.

"No, she's just younger than _you_," he retorted, tucking his shins beneath him for protection. Like that was gonna help. The next thing he knew, he was bleeding from his thigh. "You're being completely irrational, Yoruichi-chan." That comment earned him a slash on his knee.

"Tell me you never hit on her."

"I didn't."

She bit his hand. "Liar."

"No, really. I knew better," he sighed. "I know you well enough to know you'd skin me alive."

"Why would you have thought that?"

"Yoruichi, I'm bleeding."

She stopped, looked at him. He nodded at her in anticipation of an apology.

"I'm the one you were supposed to be lusting after," she said instead.

The sheer absurdity of it was too much. "You're in love with someone else."

"So? I'm still a lot hotter."

At that time, he became wise enough to know when to just give up.


	5. Parallel

There's a dead man on the beach. Yoruichi watches him for a good long while before she points out his presence. He doesn't seem to be lost. His slow, measured step reminds Kisuke of a gentleman on an afternoon stroll, going nowhere and anywhere on a whim.

He isn't completely aware of his death, not quite yet, and Kisuke is shocked and amused when he strikes up a conversation. "When I was a boy, this was a fishing village. There were ships, many ships—my father owned some of them—and they would pull bounty from the sea and sell some, and feed their families with the rest," he says, walking barefoot along the shore with his hands behind his back. "I sailed with them more than once."

His hair is dry and his clothes are fine. His hands are clean and soft. He picks up pebbles and makes them skip across the waves. Kisuke tells him he is impressed by this and notes the bored shrug he gets in response.

"Did the fish go away?" Kisuke asks.

"Yes, eventually they did. But father was wise. He knew more than one way to make money."

"That's good for your family. Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"Only sisters," the man says. "They all are married now. I have nieces and nephews."

"Any children of your own?"

The man's eyes go dark. "Oh no," he says, "I never married."

"Why not?"

"She would not have me." The man rubs the mark on his neck. It is brown and narrow, wrapped around his neck like a thin scarf that will never go away. "Bitch. I'll show her, you know. Thinking she could do better than me. She'll be sorry."

Kisuke can hear Benihime laughing. He doesn't find it funny, not outright. Just amusing. "Fool," he says.

The mans head snaps toward him. "How dare you!"

"Stop playing," the cat says, "and send him on his way."

"I was thinking the same thing," Kisuke says as he draws Benihime.

Later that night they'll laugh as they speak of the young rich man who let a broken heart kill him. "There's no justice in the world if he gets to rest and we have to wander," Kisuke says suddenly.

"We don't have to wander," Yoruichi says. "We can stay here."

"I couldn't stand it. Tending to every dead fisherman and any other rubble that washes up? I just couldn't," he says.

"Then we should leave here now," Yoruichi says. "We can't stall forever. That's the difference between him and us. He acted."

"We've been doing plenty of acting lately, Yoruichi-chan." He winks at her, enjoying the uncomfortable twitching she responds with. He's been needling at her since that night, he enjoys seeing the usually unflappable Shihouin heir become awkward and upset. He always has.

She finally sighs. "Yeah. Spinning our wheels because we can't go home."

"Well at least _I _can still perform soul burials."

"Rub it in, why don't you. We both get to be miserable creatures together, alone here for all eternity. Isn't that how you always wanted it? You're just like that boy. Hang yourself and make sure everyone hangs with you." She curls up and won't speak another word.

He opens his mouth to retort but the words don't come. She knows him better than the fur on her left paw. When she unloads on him, she chooses weapons that invariably shred his heart. If not for him, they would be leading their uncomplicated and exciting lives in Soul Society. But those days are over.

He doesn't want to admit he regrets any of it; for the most part he doesn't, except for her inevitable involvement. But she already knows it. She can make him guilty, if she wants.

But he can fight off the guilt by occupying himself.

The next day they leave the beach.


	6. Found

They always cut a striking picture. An eyewitness once labeled them as "breathtaking," and their legend grew from there. Day and night, moon and sun, lithe cat and lissome wolf. Their measured steps matched exactly, their shared expression was blank and intense all at once. They always knew the purpose of the waltz they seemed to do, whether it was flitting from friend to friend in the local tavern or darting between hollows on the field. No one ever denied they trained together. There was never any doubt. Their movements were too calculated, their telegraphed language too loud, no matter how haphazard their actions seemed. Every nerve, every muscle was devoted to the timely but theatrical completion of the task before them.

Sometimes they would even hold hands.

Their method of attack, though usually the same, often struck onlookers as random. Anyone who knew the pair intimately understood it was anything but. First she, standing still at one moment and then in action far away from that spot at the next. He would watch her, of course, his face a mix of either annoyance at being unable to warm up so quickly or complete delight with her abilities, even though he could predict them in ways even she could not. And she was as fast as she was nimble, perhaps a necessity since she usually did not carry a sword. She fought barehanded most often, a relic of her adolescent training she had failed to shake.

He had no such handicap. When he swung he swung hard, as light as the movement always was, slicing the air like a bird in flight. But watching him you could tell. If it could, the air would scream. The flat top of his zanpaktou belies the keen edges of his blade, which are indiscriminate in their gentle killing.

For at least two centuries, even though he spent a fair number of years installed in the twelfth squad, Tessai knew them only be reputation. In fact, he had no idea what the Shihouin heir looked like, only that she was lean and beautiful. That was enough for him, since he had already settled his sights on Urahara Kisuke. That one, with his shaggy handsomeness and unkempt genius, snatched attention as a toddler would, quickly and with no intention of returning it. And those gray eyes told you, in no uncertain terms, their intent: Everything and nothing. It was obvious that while he was very, very clever, Kisuke was not wise at all. Which, as Tessai understands it, led to his absence.

And a miserable absence it was (and still is) for those who remember him. Where Urahara was whimsical, Kurotsuchi is tyrannical. Where Urahara had humor, Kurotsuchi has only cruelty. There were a good many who defected from the twelfth squad immediately. Tessai waited, nursing his hope that the good Taichou would return and kick out his unworthy successor. When it became clear that this would not happen, Tessai took his leave. Five years of wandering, another five of sniffing the air for a scent led him to what he did not expect: Real Urahara. Real, imperfect, dozing Urahara sprawled across a dirty table in a filthy bar.

The Shihouin heir is nowhere to be found.

Tessai does not mind that. It does not matter that a short half-century has aged him in the wrong way. It does not matter that he's been loitering in bad places. In fact, Urahara is found in the company of an empty whiskey bottle and dry glass, joined by a hangover and completed by nausea.

Tessai does not mind. "Taichou, let me take you home."

Kisuke gazes up at him blearily. "I have no home."

This does not surprise Tessai. He knows exactly what needs to be done. "I'll find you one."

* * *

** A/N:** First, my apologies for such a long wait. In the beginning, I had a definite plan for where this was going. But as I thought about it, it became clear that this is more Kisuke's story than it is Yoruichi's. How he went from the slightly neurotic genius to the calculating puppetmaster has been on my mind a lot. Where was his turning point, and did he realize what he was becoming? Also, what caused the split with Yoruichi? Now that I've got that sorted out, I'll be getting down to business. Really. 


End file.
